


You Have to Say It

by Tacens



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2015-05-22
Packaged: 2018-03-01 00:18:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2752523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tacens/pseuds/Tacens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short episodes about the sacrifices you must make for interspecies love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You Have to Say It

Garrus Vakarian lies in Commander Jane Shepard's bed, wondering how he ever got there.

Of course there was the simple answer.  There had been the agonizing ride up the elevator.  The shake in his hand as he entered the keycode to her quarters.  The unsteady walk across Shepard's room and the stumble down the steps towards her sleeping area.  The smile that crept across Shepard's lips as she looked up to see him.  The warm embrace.  The sex.  
  
Hours before, Shepard had called him on the Comm, asking if he would like to "go over those firing algorithms".  Garrus had dropped whatever meaningless task he had been working on, grabbed a convenient datapad and ran to her like a well-trained varren.  
  
Their relationship - whatever it was - had started innocently enough. There had been a long standing promise of a single night together before going through the Omega-4 Relay. When the night finally came, it had gone better than either could have hoped. But they both knew the real reason for ever having such an affair: neither excepted to live through the next day. They would have their brief passion and then die at the Collector's base before any real consequence could arise.

And yet, they had lived. _Everyone_ had lived.  

The memory of it all still sent a shiver down Garrus' spine. Shepard had leapt from the edge of the Collector's base, an army of drones at her heels. As Garrus reached out from the hatchway, Time had seemed to slow. Shepard floated through the abyss, as bullets and flames streaked through the atmosphere about her; for a moment, she had been the very Spirit of Battle herself. That moment - that _vision_ \- is burned forever in his mind.

When Time resumed, they had landed into a mess of limbs upon the Normandy's floor, just as EDI sealed the doors and Joker turned tail back to the Relay. It took several minutes before either could move. Several more hours before they could be breathe a sigh of relief. Several days before they realized the implications of survival: they were going to have to deal with living. They were going to have to deal with each other.  

Of course, Shepard, being ever a paragon of diplomacy, and Garrus, utterly failing at human interaction, had come to a silent agreement to deal with _it_ by not dealing with it at all.

There was sex. That was it.

Shepard would call Garrus. Garrus would come running. There would be sex. Garrus would leave.   And then they would pretend that nothing at all happened. Business as usual would continue on the Normandy II.

It has been nearly 3 months since the Collector's base, and nothing has appeared to change.

 

So now, Garrus lies here in a bed not his own, holding a woman not his own.  He usually departs to his own bunk in the Crew Quarters much sooner, but tonight, Garrus allows himself this indulgence.  
  
Shepard's breath is soft and low against his chest.  She has been asleep for a few hours now, moaning, whimpering or even snorting now and again in her dreams.  His mandibles twitch into what would be called a smile.  She could easily sleep through the Reaper invasion. 

In the low blue lights of Shepard's cabin, Garrus knows that there is something wrong with him. He shouldn't find Shepard's soft skin attractive. He shouldn't long to wrap her dark hair about his fingers. Shepard defies everything that a turian should desire, and yet somehow Garrus is sure there is nothing more beautiful than the soft, squishy human in his arms.

Shepard lets lose a timid gasp; her dreams clearly becoming more vivid for the moment. Without realizing it, Garrus pulls her into his arms and runs his talons through her hair. He gives a reassuring " _shhh_ " and Shepard quiets once more.

Turians don't dream.  Garrus has read about them, but still cannot quite understand them.  The data files say that dreams play out all of your deepest desires and darkest fears. Garrus does not need dreams to tell him those; he already knows them, and to his shame, they both involve Shepard.

The next cycle finds Garrus out of his Commander's bed and passing through the CIC on his way down to the Main Battery.

"Garrus!" a cheerful, and unwelcomingly familiar voice calls out to him.

With a clench of his teeth, and a tick in his mandibles, Garrus turns around to see the smiling face of none other than Staff Commander Kaidan Alenko.

The human waves and struts over to where Garrus stands. He is dressed in too tight Alliance casual wear. In his right hand, he carries a bunch of pungent red flowers - some earth species Garrus has seen around the Zakara Wards a few times... _roses?_ maybe.

"Alenko," Garrus acknowledges with a nod.

Kaidan reaches out and takes Garrus' hand in his own to shake. Garrus has always hated this ridiculous human greeting; they have too many fingers and the gesture is strange and intrusive. He drops his hand in relief as soon as Alenko releases it.

"I just heard the Normandy II was docked here at the Citadel," the Staff Commander explains. "Took me nearly a half hour of bribing Joker to let me on," he says with a faint chuckle.  
  
Garrus bites his tongue.

"Garrus, I..." Alenko begins, but stops to shift uncomfortably as he notices the crew staring at them. "Garrus, is there somewhere we could talk?"

With a nod, Garrus leads Kaidan to the Comm Room; frankly, he doesn't think the crew needs to hear this either.

When the door seals behind them, Kaidan lets out a long sigh. "Thanks Garrus."

Again, the turian only nods in acknowledgement.

"I'm here for Shepard," Kaidan explains at last. "I want to fix things with her... maybe even rejoin the Normandy if the Alliance clears it."

"Yeah?" Garrus asks, not know what else to say.

Kaidan shakes his head, "Things went so wrong on Horizon. I would have never meant for it to be like that. Before she...left, I loved her. I thought we had something together. And then she just vanished for two years."

"She died," Garrus corrects in a low growl.

"I know that now - I've seen the evidence, and I'm sorry for doubting it," Kaidan admits. "After I heard about the Omega-4 Relay, and saw the presentation to the Council, it... it brought so much back to me.  I think she needs me here now. "

Garrus' throat tightens and his hands curl unconsciously into fists. "Shepard needed you at Horizon," he responds, fighting for patience.

The Staff Commander nods, "I know. It should have never happened the way it did. I tried to contact her once afterwards, but it just never..." his fades off for a moment. "I _loved_ her, Garrus. Even if she died, I thought she would have come to find me - contacted me somehow. It hurt like nothing else when she just appeared on Horizon after all that time."

 _What about when she died_? Garrus longs to shout. "She tried. They told her your location was classified," he says instead.

"Jane Shepard doesn't _'try'_ ; she _'does'_ ", Kaidan says with a low chuckle. "And now, with all the evidence with the Collectors, and Cerberus, and all that..." he pauses for a moment.

"I forgive her."

Garrus' fist makes contact against Kaidan's cheek, before either man realizes his control is gone. 

The smaller man falls to his knees, cradling his throbbing face against his palm. Kaidan is clearly shocked, but shakes off his surprise as he rises to his feet. Garrus strikes out again, this time making contact with the Staff Commander's nose. There is an awful cracking noise, as Kaidan stumbles backwards and onto the ground. This time he is clever enough not to rise.

"Get up." Garrus commands, voice cold and low.

Kaidan shakes his head. With trembling fingers, he touches his nose and lips. His finger tips return dripping red; the turian has broken his nose.

Garrus revels in the moment. The sight of red blood upon his hands usually leaves him at ill ease - of course, it's too often Shepard's. But now, it flows from Alenko and no bastard has deserved it more.

With a growl, he reaches down to hoist Alenko up off the ground. With a single talon at his throat, Garrus pins the Staff Commander against the cold steel of the Normandy's walls.

"You don't deserve her," the words seethe from between Garrus' teeth, "you _never_ deserved her."

Kaidan only coughs and sputters as he attempts to removes the claws around his neck. The blue glow of biotics flares from Kaidan for a moment, before Garrus reaches his free hand to tap at his Omni-Tool. The glow falters as Garrus jams the biotic's implants.

"You had one chance to make it right. One chance to show that you were worthy of the only good and beautiful thing in this shit-hole galaxy." His claws squeezed tighter.   "And you screwed it up on Horizon."

Alenko's eyes widen in shock of the accusations, or from his struggle to breath, or both.

Garrus' mandibles twitch as he leans in closer, "You've never even seen the scars, have you? You don't even know how she suffered. How she bled. How she woke up alone and confused and went off searching for a worthless scum like you." He gives one final tightening squeeze. "You never saw her cry..."

"Kaidan!" a gasp leaps out from behind Garrus. He turns his head slightly to see the shocked form of his Commander Shepard rush forward and pry his hand off Alenko's neck.

Garrus drops the Staff Commander to floor, and walks away with a word. It would destroy him to see Shepard tending to one so very unworthy.  He tramples the forgotten flowers for the only taste of satisfaction he can hope for.

An hour later, the first new sound to greet Garrus in the humming Battery is the dull mechanical _thump_ as the door behind him lifts and opens. It is quickly followed by the light and even _click_ of Shepard's stride. The finale comes in the rustle of fabric as she leans against the far console, and crosses her arms before her.

"Where's Alenko?" Garrus asks, not bothering to turn towards her.

Shepard uncrosses her arms, unsure of how to proceed. She gives a small cough, clearing her throat as she rubs at her shoulder. "He's down in the Med-Bay," she says finally. "Turns out Chakwas will get to use that fancy facial reconstruction unit more than once," she says with a small smile.

Garrus doesn't laugh - doesn't give his little smirk, or even let his mandibles twitch. He just keeps tapping at the console as if the universe will end if he doesn't finish this calibration in the next five minutes. A suffocating silence falls between the pair.

"Garrus," Shepard tries. "We need to talk..." she sighs as she places a hand upon his shoulder.

With a sudden pull, Garrus shrugs off her grasp; he can't stand to have her so near. "Don't bother Shepard," he mumbles. "I know how this works." He turns to meet her gaze. "I've known from the start what I was enlisting into. I don't need some let-down speech. Go have fun with Alenko; I'm not going to abandon the mission just because you found a new fuck-buddy."

He is more than a little surprised at the look of hurt that skitters across Shepard's eyes. He had been expecting an awkward "thank-you" or a silent departure; instead, Shepard leans back against the console and crosses her arms, steeling herself.

"But you're upset," she states the obvious.

"You deserve better than that," his answer is simple, but revealing enough.

Shepard gives a little scoff at his reply. "Why would I deserve anything?"

"You've saved the galaxy twice now... and you brought me back from the edge thrice over, Shepard," he leans lower over the control panel, tapping faster and faster now at the keys.

"You'd have found your way out sooner or later without me, Garrus."

"I...I don't like seeing you hurt," he mutters, so low she can barely hear it.

"And why's that?"

What the hell sort of question is that?   "You're important to me - to everyone on the Normandy," Garrus snaps at her as his ire rises. Why does she keep prodding at him? Why won't she just leave him alone?

Her faint laugh stings his ears. "Oh, I'm sure a few of the crew would be upset if I disappeared tomorrow, but I didn't see anyone else throwing punches at Kaidan."

Garrus remains silent.

"How am I important?" she digs deeper.

"You're the only thing that's _right_ ," he gives in.

Shepard shakes her head; it's not enough. "Say it, Garrus," she urges in a whisper. "You have to say it."

How dare she? She had no idea what all this meant. She couldn't even begin to understand. And-

"I love you!" he shouts at last, words breaking free from the pitted anchors of his stomach. "I love you," he bellows again, his hands shaking as he stands over her. "Whatever the hell that means from a turian to a human, I love you." As the fires burn out of him, Garrus' proud chin droops towards his chest. He won't look at Shepard now - can't stand to see the pity in her eyes. Or would it be disgust? Either way, he couldn't bare it.

Eyes closed in shame, Garrus misses the tearse forming in the corners of the great and fearless Commander Shepard's eyes. "Garrus..."

"No, Shepard. It's fine." The words cut at his throat. "I just wish you would pick someone better than Alenko. The guy's a fool; you can't trust him to watch your six in a shootout." His mandibles twitch in frustration.   "If you need a human, at least pick someone loyal. Someone like Anderson, or even... even Jacob would be better."

Shepard's brows turn up and she coughs back a slight laugh, "Anderson's a little old for me, don't you think?"

Garrus shakes off the question without answering. Age differences in relationships were not an issue in turian society. Her observation is just another insurmountable difference between their cultures.

"Garrus..." she sighs, "Garrus, look at me."

Too used to following orders, the turian turns towards the small human, and is puzzled by the expression upon her face. He can't recognize it at all.

"Garrus," Shepard tries again. "You have to let me say this," she says as she reaches up and gently draws his face down towards her own. He doesn't fight her this time. When at last their eyes meet, Shepard leans forward to press their brows together.

"Garrus," she whispers, "I love you."

And his heart bursts. This must be a trick or a dream or some cruel joke. He holds for a moment, waiting for her to break out laughing, but it never comes.

"No," she orders, calm and commanding as ever, "just listen."

Garrus swallows back his shock and nods in agreement.

"I asked Kaidan to leave," she explains.

A wave of relief washes over Garrus, as he nods his understanding, his thanks.

"I love you," Shepard murmurs again, "Whatever that means, from a human to a turian, in this Battery, on this ship, a trillion miles for our homes with the Reapers on our tails... _I love you_."

"Shepard, I - " Garrus begins, only to be cut off.

"Shhh," she breathes, "Don't say anything." She presses her lips against his mouth in one of those strange human kisses he is coming to enjoy more and more.

With that, Shepard takes his hand into hers and silently leads him out of the Battery. She has too many fingers and it feels strange to have them interlaced his own, but Garrus does not protest - he follows with equal silence.

A few members of the ex-Cerberus crew mill about the deck, but all fall into stunned silence as their Commander leads the turian towards the elevator by the hand; the pair daring any of their subordinates to comment. There had been rumours - the standard scuttlebutt that Shepard and the turian were more than just friends - but so far it had stayed as rumour.  

They pause only at the elevator - the wait and the endless ride up to the Loft feel suffocating to Garrus. When at last they reach her rooms and the door is locked red behind them, Garrus remembers to breathe again...and chokes once more then Shepard leads him to her bed, releasing his hand only as she sits and removes her uniform.

Garrus watches with wide eyes as Shepard lies back against the cool sheets. Her eyes flutter for a moment as she runs a tracing finger along her collar bone and then down between her breasts, to rest upon her waist. She sighs and it is nothing short of a sacred chorus to his ears.

"Make love to me, Garrus," she asks with a husky whisper.

Garrus freezes. Make love to her? They've been intimate many times now, but he's never made love to her. They've had sex, blow-off steam, fucked, and so on, but never _made love_. Garrus swallows the knot in his throat. Does he even know how? He's never loved like this before. Pushing the emotion out of his heart and into his hands seems impossible.

When he doesn't move, Shepard reaches up to take his hand in hers. Her hands are so soft - so fragile. Garrus' talons could easily rip them to shreds, yet Shepard's touch is unwavering. There is trust there that Garrus cannot even begin to imagine. She places his hand upon her chest, and presses it lightly there. Immediately, Garrus can feel her warmth seep into him. He feels her heart beat, calm and steady, a counter rhythm to his own frenetic pace.

"Please Garrus," Shepard murmurs, "make love to me."

Still not knowing how to fulfill her request, Garrus settles upon worshipping her instead.

Its several hours later when Garrus can breathe again.

The Council, the Crew, and the entire Citadel will likely shun them for their choices. His father will never speak to him again. Yet as Shepard - Jane - pulls herself closer and whispers "I love you " into his ear, Garrus Vakarian knows he regrets none of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This series was started during the wait between ME2 and ME3, and so events might differ from cannon.
> 
> Also, I actually do like Kaidan... but it's Garrus' POV, so hey, he can come off as a huge jerk, no?


	2. You Have to Trust It

Garrus Vakarian sits at Commander Jane Shepard's desk, awaiting her return. A datapad in each hand, he stews in a cold cocktail of emotions: a shot of Anger and a splash of Distrust, shaken with Secrets and poured cold over Fear.

He wants to give her the benefit of the doubt. He wants to be more than a small part in her big plans. He wants to know why they still do this...

It has been over 6 months since they destroyed the Collector's base. They have grown from comrades, to friends, to lovers and more, but remain two imperfect halves of a whole. Nature never intended for Humans and Turians to be together, and She makes certain to remind them every chance She gets. It doesn't seem to matter that they have saved the galaxy twice over, usurped the Shadow Broker or made it through breakfast alive, something new always finds them.

Today's crisis comes in digital form; the datapads clutched in Garrus' hands each show a message: one to Shepard, and one from her.

The first is from Miranda, the Normandy's ex-XO having slipped quietly off the ship some time ago.

_Shepard -_

_This is hard for me to write, but I should have done it long ago._

_I've told you this before, but it's more important now than ever. When Cerberus rebuilt you, I wanted to implant a control device. The Illusive Man stopped me; he thought the only way you could live up to your own legend was if you were given the freedom to choose it. I'm sorry. Seeing you now - your loyalty, your bravery - I regret ever planning it._

_My contacts at Cerberus tell me that the Illusive Man also has regrets. He wants you back - any cost. I don't have many details yet, but it seems that he plans to drag you back, possibly in pieces, and this time use a control device. You know as well as I that once the device is implanted, it can't be removed without fatal neurological damage. I'm so sorry. You deserve much better._

_Cerberus has agents everywhere. I know of at least a dozen in Alliance Command, and I'm certain there are a dozen more that I don't know.   You can't risk trusting anyone._

_Be careful Shepard._

_\- M_

The second is shorter - one of the few times Shepard has bothered to write a message, instead of just making her point with gunfire. 

_Attn: Earth Systems Alliance Admiralty,_

_As per the Admiralty's orders, I, Commander Jane Shepard, will peacefully surrender the starcraft_ SR2-Normandy _, and myself to Alliance Command within the month._

_\- Commander J. Shepard_

The small voice inside Garrus tells him that this isn't right; he should put the datapads back on the desk and pretend like he never saw them. It's not like he _meant_ to find them -they weren't encrypted nor hidden in any way. They had been lying harmless about on Jane's desk when he had wandered up to wait for his lover to finish her rounds.

In fact, it seems strange that _those_ two datapads sat upon her desk. Sure, there are half dozen other pads - flight plans, supply lists, maintenance reports, and so on, but these two had sat at the very top... as if waiting for Garrus to find them.

Garrus scratches at his fringe. Maybe Shepard was planning on explaining this to him. Or maybe she wanted him to find it. Or maybe ...

He shakes his head to rattle loose this train of thought; he's over thinking it. The Commander's desk is a mess and she's forgetful when it comes to paperwork.  Garrus was not supposed to be see the messages.  They had been left out by mistake - she probably never expected him to beat her back to the Loft.

The soft beep of the doors signal the Commander's arrival. "Garrus," she says with a smile and moves to embrace him. She stops when she sees the hard look upon his face. With a frown, she steps back to lean against the fish tanks. "What's up?" she asks.

There is no point dancing around the issue - Garrus has seen the Commander dance, and it's not pretty.

"What is this?" he asks.

Shepard raises a brow and gives a slow saunter across the cabin.   It's clear she's not expecting a fight; her steps are confident but careful - just in case. She takes one of the datapads and skims her own letter of surrender.

Garrus watches her with predator's eyes, searching for a hint of shock or fear or guilt or ... anything.   But Shepard is good at hiding her cards. Damn good. Her only tell is the skipped heartbeat on his heads-up display before she looks back to him.

She shrugs. The gesture seems too calm, too simple for this significant of moment. "I need the Alliance on my side."

There is an anxious twitch in his mandibles as Garrus answers. "... and that's it? You'll go before a military tribunal just to get a couple gutless bureaucrats to throw you a bone? "

She shakes her head, sending her dark hair sweeping from side to side. For a moment, it's mesmerizing. It's enough to make Garrus want to forget about messages, the Alliance, the Reapers and everything else, and just go back to those sweet moments were Jane is sleeping in his arms.

Shepard's voice drags him back to the moment. "I swore to Hackett that when the time came, I would be there in my dress blues."

"The man that sent you alone into a Batarian prison to rescue a nut job? I think he owes you a few..."

"Dammit Garrus," her voice suddenly harsh. "I killed those people. Thousands of them. I made the call. I pulled the trigger. And then I ran like a bloody coward back through that Relay." She turns to him and stares him hard in the eyes. She is a good foot shorter than him, but Shepard somehow manages to make him feel small beneath her glare. "If I had an ounce of honour, I would have stayed."

There is a slightest tinge of anxiety before she continues.   "I have to go."

The solution is easy enough. "I'm coming with you," he says.   He will surrender with her to the Alliance. They will face whatever they decide to call justice together and when the time comes, take on the Reapers, just as planned. Done.

"Garrus..." she gives a long sigh. "I can't have you on Earth."

"Why the hell not?" he demands. It's childish. He doesn't care.

He watches her breath in and hold - like she's waiting for her voice to return. In the span, a realization falls upon Garrus. "This is why we're headed to the Migrant Fleet. And then the Citadel. And Tuchanka ... and Palaven," he says.

"It's the safest place for you..." she answers.   She closes her eyes, rubs her shoulder and sighs once more. When she looks to him again, her honesty guts him. "I need someone I can trust on the outside. I need someone who will do what has to be done."

"Because of this?" he's shouting now as he tosses her the second datapad.

She fumbles the catch and barely reads the first line before throwing it onto her desk.

"Yes."

"So you're just going to hop right into whatever trap Cerberus might have planned for you, just so the Alliance might lend you a handful of ships and maybe, just maybe, you'll sleep better at night?"  

"Yes." Again, it's much too simple an answer for such a heavy question.

"They want to take you again," Garrus shouts and waves the datapad madly towards her. "They want to stick a chip in your brain and make you their damn puppet. "

Shepard looks away. She has no words to make it better for him.

"Damn it, Jane. You don't know who you are trust anymore. If you walk into Alliance HQ with no one to watch your back, you might never walkout again."

She gives him a long, hard look. There is trust there, with patience and perhaps just a hint of despair. "That's why you have to do this."

"What _exactly_ am I supposed to do?"

She looks past him into the steady blue of the empty fish tank. "Wait. Prepare. Wait some more."

"What if I can't do that anymore?" he asks. "What if I can't just sit on my hands waiting for you to fix the whole damn galaxy."

Off the Normandy, they really aren't subordinate and commander. As soon as they set off onto solid ground, Shepard has little control over Garrus, short of throwing her Spectre status onto a civilian. She rubs at her shoulder as she answers. "Then I can't stop you." She pauses for a moment to breath in and out, leveling herself. "But I'm asking you not to. I'm asking you to trust me - begging you to trust me."

Garrus waits, hoping for something to finally make sense.

"If they take me and change me so that I'm no longer me ..." she trails off. "If they control me..." She stares hard at him, looking to him for the strength and support he no longer offers. She breaths once more. "Then I need you to put a bullet in my head."

Garrus blinks, thinking for a moment he misheard or his translator glitched or maybe this is some sort of horrible human joke. He waits for the laugh. And waits. And waits.

"You're serious..."

"I can't let Cerberus use me against the Council or the Alliance or anyone else that might get in their way." She takes a deep breath. "They could use me to infiltrate any number of commands - spy or saboteur, it doesn't matter. If I'm a weapon they point at an innocent, I have to be taken out just like anyone else."

Shepard looks up to her lover. He gapes back at her, frozen.

"Someone has to make the call. Someone has to look me the eyes and know if it's truly _me_ that's looking back." She pauses and her voices turns gentle as she looks him in the eye. "And there is no one in the universe I trust more than you ," she whispers with a little mirthless smile

The ice falls free as Garrus' shock takes over. "How can you even ask that?" he screams the words. The anger is too much now; it clatters around in his chest, building hot bile and clawing at him like betrayal. It feels like ... _Sidonis_.   The fury spreads down into his hands and demands to be set free. He wants to punch something. Throw something. Trash the whole damn room. Put his first through the glass of the tank and watch the water come crashing down.

 

"I have to go to the Alliance," she tries so hard to explain. "I have to go because we need them against the Reapers, and because they ordered it, and because I killed all those people, and because it's the _right_ thing to do. Maybe Cerberus will get me or maybe the Reapers will indoctrinate me first or maybe a thousand other horrible things will happen... but I have to go."

Garrus looks away. It's still not enough.

"And, I have to go knowing that you'll stop me - _free_ _me -_ if it all goes wrong. I have to trust in you."

He watches her scratch at the corner of eye, trying to hide the tears that have gathered there.

Finally, she finds the words. "And because I love you. And you love me." She reaches up to place a hand against his scarred mandible. "And it has to be you."

Her touch spreads like a cool spring through his blood. The rage and anger and betrayal flow away as quickly as they had come.   And in a horrid way, her words finally make sense to him. In all the galaxy, she trusted only him to look into her eyes and know if she was still herself. It is the greatest and most horrible honour ever bestowed upon him.

It sickens him and stabs at his heart, but he knows she is right. Somehow, she is always right.

The bitter cocktail poured out into the gutter, he reaches for her. Holds her. Loves her.   Finally he nods, and pulls her into his embrace. The galaxy needs Jane Shepard, and Jane Shepard needs him.

He will trust her. Wait for her. Follow her to hell and back.

Again.  

And again.

As many times as its takes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From here on in, it should be pretty ME3 compliant. If you're unaware, this story is being slowing imported and edited from that other fanfiction site. I have 3 more already posted there, and hope for this series to be about 8 parts in total.


	3. You Have to Hear It

Commander Jane Shepard is tired. Really damn tired.

After all that she has been through in the last three years - Saren, Eden Prime, the Collectors, Bahak, a court martial and so bloody much else, this has still somehow managed to be the longest week of her life. Of course, a Reaper invasion was bound to set a shit precedent.

Yesterday was supposed to be relatively easy - all she had to do was drop down to Menae, grab the Primarch and fly off again. Easy, right?

Words fail at the range of emotions that had ripped through Jane on that mission: the panic as she saw Palaven burn red, the guilt at knowing that Garrus was somewhere out there - knowing that _she_ put him there, and finally, the cool flood of relief when he appeared before her very eyes.

It was hard not to gasp or cry out at the sight of him- but she did it; she didn't run to him like a love-struck fool. She didn't throw her arms around him and kiss him, like she so badly wanted to. No. She strode over and shook his hand like a good damn soldier ... and then she silently thanked any god that would listen for bringing him back to her.  

Back on the Normandy, they are professional as ever in front of Victus. Somehow Garrus has learned to play the part of the Good Turian remarkably well in their absence; he is calm, collected and nothing like the impulsive C-Sec officer Shepard had recruited years ago. It can't help but make her wonder what else has changed.  

Six months is a long time, and Jane has spent most of it wondering if Garrus has forgiven her for sending him away. During a brief private reunion in the Battery, he acts as a good friend, but nothing like a lover. At every pause, she waits for him to confirm his affections, but it never comes. For the first time, their relationship is solely in his hands. She vows not push him this time.

Now, a day later with panics quelled and Primarchs settled, they enjoy a drink in Jane's cabin while sharing stories of the 'good ol'days'.  

Jane smiles on cue. Jane laughs on cue. Jane flirts on cue. It's nice. But it's not real.  

"So," Garrus cuts the silence. "Tell me more about this resort they had you in on Earth." He smirks at her. Damn, he looks good - happy even. He leans back against her couch, one ankle crossed up to rest on his other knee. His free arm lies across the top cushions, reminding Jane of all times they had sat together there. She remembers the warmth of him as she would nestle closer into his embrace. She misses the weight of his arm as he would draw it around her shoulders. She wonders if she should take his pose as an invitation - let subtly be damned and tuck herself in against his side.

Instead, Jane shrugs from her seat across the coffee table. "It wasn't really a prison - more like a tiny apartment I wasn't allowed to leave without an escort. Soft bed, good food, every soldier's dream retirement."

They share a long look and then burst out laughing.       

"But honestly," she continues. "It was pretty ... so-so. I wasn't allowed visitors or outside communications or any electronics. They disabled my Omni-Tool, damped my biotics amp - the whole shebang. Hell, they even restricted me to paper books."

"But you, ah, kept _busy_ ," Garrus observes, scanning up and down her body.

A blush nearly threatens Jane's cheeks, but she fights it down like a good soldier should. "Yeah well, they gave me a puppy named James to follow me around. Maybe you've met him?"   She tries to joke away her fluster. "I could go to the base gym, so long as I brought my puppy with me."

"So you and Vega spent a lot a time together," he comments.

Jane gives an offhand nod.

"You must be quite ... close now," he says, voice suddenly measured.

Is that jealousy? God, she hopes it's jealousy.

Jane shrugs and tries her best to turn the conversation away from the human battering-ram in the cargo hold. "Most of the time, I was just bored out of my goddamn mind." She smirks at the absurdity of the memory. Boredom - what a ridiculous luxury. She would give her left arm for some quality boredom right now.

"Must have been hard, not blowing anything up for six months."

"Damn near killed me."

And they laugh. Good. Friendly banter is good, right? It's healthy and normal and ... when were they have ever been _normal_? Jane swallows down the question. They faked their way through their first courtship - why stop now?

"Heh, you know, at one point I was so bored, I even tried to learn French from one of those shitty old books they gave me," she says.

"French?"

"Yeah, an old Earth language. It's still spoken locally... sort of."

He takes another sip from his dwindling cup.   "And how'd that work out?"

She arches her brow and gives a little smirk. "Not enough guns."

And he laughs again. They're getting good at this game.

Jane downs the rest of her drink in a long pull. "You know, this is crazy, but I don't really know what Turian sounds like without a translator."

Garrus gives a low chuckle. "Really, Shepard, _Turian_?" he teases with a twinged mandible. "I suppose you speak Human, then."

She wrinkles her nose at him. "Fine. Cipritine Common.   I don't really know what _Cipritine_ _Common_ sounds like without a translator."

An idea passes through her mind. It's silly and childish, but a welcome distraction from her doubts. With a little "hmm", she engages her Omni-Tool. "Say something," she orders, turning off all translations.

Garrus cocks his head to the side and pulls his mandibles in tight. His expression asks _Really, Shepard?_ But no sounds leave his mouth.

With a little scowl, Jane turns on translation. "Come on, Garrus. Play along," she huffs.

"What am I supposed to say?" he asks.

"Anything you want. Talk about - I don't know - guns or the weather or something," she answers, flicking off translation.

Again, he offers nothing but silence.

Jane sighs and turns translation on. "Don't make me pull rank, Soldier."

"I feel ridiculous," Garrus laments.

"See? You could have just said that," she teases. "Now... Say. Something," she commands, turning translations back off. For a moment, she wonders why she's pushing this. Maybe it's the alcohol or the lack of sleep, but it's too late now. She's charged head-first into it, and she's not stopping.

They give one another a long stare. Jane cocks an eyebrow. They're both snipers - the Waiting Game is old hat for them. She leans back against the cushions and crosses her arms; he's good, but she's better.

At last Garrus gives her a look - it's hard and foreign and almost sad. And then he mumbles a few words that sound surprisingly smooth through his rumbling dual-toned voice. It takes only an instant for regret to flicker across his face; he does his best to hide it with small cough.

Their eyes meet for just a moment, before his flicker away. With a tap, Jane turns translation back on. "What did you say?"

Garrus blinks for a moment, swallows hard and then looks back to Jane. "I, ah, I said that the main cannon still needs some recalibrating."

"Oh." Honestly, what had she been hoping for?   _Stupid. Stupid. Stupid._ Jane chides herself. Why play this stupid game? Why waste their time? There are a thousand Reapers out there, ready to tear them limb from limb and Jane is playing treehouse games. _Stupid_. They should talking tactics or politics or even the fucking weather. But no, she is playing bloody games. She stares at Garrus, wondering what he must think of her foolish ways.

There is yet another long silence. It seems to wrap about them and slowly drag them apart.

Suddenly, Garrus puts down his empty glass and stands. "I really should get going," he says, walking all too quickly towards the door.

Before she realizes what she's doing, Jane sprints after him and stops him with a hand upon his forearm. "You could stay..." she tries. It feels weak coming off her tongue.

He shakes his head. "Not tonight, Commander," he answers, ignoring her flinch at the formality. "Like I said, I have some, ah, calibrations to get done."

She nods and tries to joke her disappointment away. "Right. Can't keep you from your babies."

They both give a little laugh and force one more smile.

That should be it.   He should leave now and she should get back to bloody work. All Jane has to do is let go of his arm and say goodnight. That's it. And she'll do. She'll do it right now. She will. She damn well will.

"Garrus," she whispers instead. "Are we done?" Her voice falls. "Really, truly done?"

In an instant his arms are around her. His forehead presses against hers as he draws he close. "No, Jane. I promise," he answers, voice low and rasping. "With Palaven, and the Primarch, and my family, and ..." he trails off before mentioning their long separation.  

And then it dawns upon Jane: he's as lost and scared and sorry as she is. His confidence and jokes have been just as much an act as hers. She finally understands they are both stuck in a slow dance - spinning and whirling about in circles, waiting for the music to change.

"Soon," he vows.  His hand reaches up to thread through the back of her hair. He is gentle as he holds her against the soft fibers of his tunic. "But not now. Not yet." His breath is warm as it shivers through her hair.

Jane lets her eyes close. Tucked tight against Garrus' chest and with no one watching, there is no one to see her so very weak in the moment.  She breaths in the familiar scent of him one last time before looking back up to him.

She nods in agreement. They have to brace the shaky parts of their relationship. It was never as steady as it should have been, and now, six months of questions later, it's rife with holes. It could never have been as easy as running into each other's arms.

At last he steps away, giving Jane one last apologetic look. "I'll be in the Battery, if you need me," he says, and then heads towards the lift.

"Right. Thanks," she calls after him as the cabin doors close, leaving her to wonder what she should have said.

When the door turns red, Jane stumbles back to sit at the edge of her bed. What the hell is she doing? She's a marine - a Spectre, even - not some bloody lovesick teenager. She needs to man the fuck up and get back to saving the damn galaxy. Her love-life will sort itself out in time, and -

She lets her head fall into her hands. Time: the one thing she never had.

She sits up when she realizes her Omni-Tool is still engaged - a stupid, rookie mistake. Before she turns it off, she notices the tiny blinking light; she must have accidently activated the recording function when she turned off her translator. Idly, Jane replays the recording from its start and hears Garrus' little Cipritine speech. Calibrations or not, it almost makes her smile to hear. And yet, she can't help but wonder...

She replays the Cipritine phrase once more, but now with full translation.

" _I was empty without you._ "

And maybe it's the stress or the lack of sleep, but somehow a choked sob escapes from the lips of the great Commander Shepard.

She breathes long and slow for a few moments. It will be okay. They will be okay. Not today. But soon.

"I love you too," she whispers back to a cold, empty cabin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Things should be fairly ME3 compliant from here on out. Thanks for all the Kudos and kind words so far. It's been a real encouragement to actually finish this series out.


	4. You Have to Swear It - Part I

Commander Jane Shepard is dying.

She has no diseases nor maladies of any sort. The only wounds upon her body are tiny, superficial and healing fast. There is no sign of injury as she hops easily from the dirty streets of London into the cold grey of the Mako. In fact, her health would classified as "Excellent" by any medic on the field.

But she is dying.   Slow and steady. One breath at a time.   Of this, if nothing else, Jane is certain. This is the end - she will not see another day.

And oh, what a day she's seen. She has raided the lair of a nemesis, avenged a friend, lost the Citadel and returned to the broken, blacken planet that she once called home - all within the last 24 hours.

It's amazing what a difference a few hours can make. Just this morning she breakfasted on valiant speeches - on Hope and Glory and promises of a new tomorrow. Yet somehow, in those tense minutes when she lured the Reaper away from the Beam, something had changed. Now Jane chokes down a cold gruel of Acceptance and Harsh Reality. It tastes like ashes.

She settles onto the hard bench, pulls off her helmet, and tries her hardest not to gasp for air. If she's going to die, she's going to do it with some damn dignity. She brushes back the sticky locks of her hair and wipes the sheen of sweat from her forehead with dirty gloves.

Does she regret it? Maybe. Some parts, sure. Others - she watches Garrus slide down into the seat across from her - never.

Somehow amidst all the chaos, they found their way back to each other. Theirs was never meant to be a fairytale romance. The scars and scorch marks attest that Garrus is no Knight in Shining Armor, and there is no way in hell that Jane would ever settle for Damsel in Distress. But their love is a rare thing of beauty to her, and for now, it keeps her failing heart beating.

It took until just last evening for Garrus to come to her. For the first time since she left Earth, Jane managed to sleep for more than a few restless minutes, nestled soundly in the warmth of his embrace. Yes, nightmares had eventually followed, but for one brief night, she had remembered what peace felt like. And now, at the end, they have said their goodbyes. They have joked about beaches and children and the impossible future they dream of sharing together. They have thrown subtly to the wind, confessing love and sharing a final kiss not ten feet from the Primarch himself.

For all his attempts to make this battle sound so simple, Jane has tried to warn Garrus of her impending death - to tell him that she'll hold his place at that bar. But it's nothing more than an bandage on her broken heart. These are her final moments with the only man she has ever loved.

Jane closes her eyes and recites the battle plan to herself for a millionth time. Their sad collection of Makos will drive as close as possible to the Beam. Alenko, Vega, and any other Alliance soldiers that make it will join in her in a mad rush. Garrus will stay back and snipe a path for her. And then, should she actually make it to the Citadel... well, then Jane will make it up as she goes. Everyone knows the plan; it's piss-poor, but it's all they have.

She turns her gaze to Garrus once more, wondering if he's upset that she's leaving him behind yet again ...wondering if he knows that her reasons are partially selfish - that she can't stand to have him at join her at that bar quite yet.

Yet, Garrus smiles at her as he pulls off his own helmet. "Thank the Spirits they're not letting you drive," he teases. "The Reapers, I can handle - your driving, not so much."

And through it all, Jane laughs. Somehow it helps. It really does.

"I thought you swore to never get in one of these with me again," she manages to joke.

"It's a long walk," he shrugs. "And it's a bit late in the game to go AWOL."

In an instant, the mood sours. They look away from each other in silence. They are at the end, and it hurts.

The Mako rumbles to life and starts forward towards the Beam.   In a few minutes, they will fight what will almost certainly be their last battle. It is overwhelmingly likely that they will not even reach the Citadel. But they'll die trying. Together.

"Garrus, " Jane begins, not knowing how to say all the things she fears and needs. Instead she sighs and blinks and chokes.   Finally, she says she loves him with the mournful look in her eyes. She shows him that he has made her whole again in the way she reaches for him. She tells him that she is so very sorry that it has come to this with a little gasp.      

"Thank you," she manages whisper.

Jane watches as he fidgets for a moment. His eyes dart to Vega and Kaiden who try their very hardest to pretend not to listen. Garrus seems to weigh the moment and then gives a little ' _fuck it'_ of a sigh. He leans forward and slides off the bench. Just then, the Mako bounces hard and he lands gracelessly upon his knees before her.

He gives a little smile, hopeful and sad. "Jane, I..." he trails off, reaching into his belt pouch. He looks almost sheepish as he holds up a warped steel washer and little glass jar, speckled in blue.

Jane looks down at the offering, tired and confused. "Garrus?" she asks.

He shuffles on his knees for a moment before taking her hand into his. "Maybe I'm doing this wrong - the vids weren't all that clear," he says, sliding the washer onto her finger.

"It's the best I could do on short notice," he admits. "Hell, I don't even have the 'Vigilante Budget' excuse anymore... but I'll get you a, umm, sparklier one later. After. "

He looks up at her with a heartbreaking earnestness. He seems to hold his breath, awaiting her reply.

 _A washer and a jar. A washer and a jar._ The words flicker through Jane's mind and she tries to make sense of it all. _A washer and a jar.   A washer and a jar._

Jane tells herself that this should be easy. She knows this. She's seen it before -somewhere, a thousand simpler lifetimes ago.

_A washer and a jar. A... **ring** and a jar.   A ring and a blue jar. A ring and a jar of blue paint._

And it all makes sense. They are two tokens of promise, born a trillion light-years apart.   The ring is usually gold with a precious earth gem or some sort. The jar is usually fine pottery, engraved and patterned in bright colours.

Jane gapes at the paint. She's done her reading; she knows what it means. It's more than a promise of fidelity. It's an invitation to go Home together.  _Home._ It's not the colony, or the building or some other dwelling. Home is where you rested. It is your haven in the storm. The jar is a vow to _be_ Home to one another. Forever.

A ring Jane can handle. It's just an old, silly human tradition that means next to nothing anymore; you could put a ring on one day, pull it off the next, and, hell, by week's end have another there in its place.  

But the paint... the paint Jane cannot handle. It's an old, silly turian tradition that still means something. You only give paint once - even when your mate died. There is no 'til death do you part'. You only give paint _once_.  If Jane accepts it, she will be responsible for a lifetime of her lover's loneliness.

And it's too much for her poor, dying heart to take.

"No," she shakes her head.

Garrus blinks back the shock and the hurt. "Hmm, still not enough scars? I think I can work on that..." he tries to joke off his disappointment. He starts to lift himself back up onto the bench. "Alright, that was a bad idea. Let's just pretend that didn't happen..."

In an instant, Jane falls forward to wrap her arms tight around him. "Don't you dare, Garrus Vakarian. Don't you dare," she warns him.  

He freezes as she crushes him in her embrace.

A small piece of Jane is furious at him for asking this _now_ of all times. It's too much tragedy for her tale. "It's too much," she murmurs against his neck. "The paint - it's too much." She pulls back and shakes her head.

"Ahh," he sighs. "I guess you _did_ do some research after all." He grasps her hand tighter and brings it to his chest. "I wouldn't hold you to _that_ , Jane. It's a turian thing... Humans remarry when their mates die and that's..." He swallows hard. "That's fine."

She stares at him - his openness destroying her.  Once more, she shakes her head. The beautiful idiot thinks she's worried about being a widow. "No," she says again.

His mandibles twitch. "Jane, I -"

"I want you to be happy," she interrupts, feeling like a fool. "When I die, I want you to find happiness." She reaches out to cup his jaw. Her thumb tracing along the faded scars of his mandible.  "No more Omegas. I want you to settle down on that beach and live that good life..." She leans forward to rest her forehead against his. "With a family," she whispers.

The Mako begins to slow and the driver shouts back to them to stand ready. Beside them, Vega shakes his head as he collects his gear. "Shit, Lola," he mumbles to deaf ears. Forgotten, Kaiden pulls on his helmet. He has not looked at them once during the journey.

At last, the Mako comes to a standstill. The lovers clutch tighter at each other.  Their time together is nearing an end.

"Don't mourn me," Jane whispers. "When this over, live a real life."

Garrus gives a deep rumble from within his chest - a expression of heavy emotion and frustration. "Dammit Jane," he rasps. "I know what this is. I know what we're up against. I know the odds." He runs a hand down the back of her hair, combing his fingers through its lengths for what might be the last time. "But I want this. With you." His forehead rests against hers. "Only you."

A crack begins to form at the bottom of Jane's heart. It creeps and grows and reminds her of her sad fate. "Ask me again. When this over, ask me again," she begs, holding in the tears. "And then we'll build the beach house and buy some kids off Wrex. I promise." She pulls back to arm's length to watch him.  

He's not happy, but at the end of the world, it will have to do. "Okay," Garrus mumbles at last. "Okay. Just swear to me that when this is over, you'll say 'yes'."

Jane pulls him close one last time and crushes her mouth against his. "I promise," she whispers, dying a little more each second. She pulls away and grabs her helmet. "I promise." A beautiful lie she won't live to make.

The Mako's doors open, and together, they step out into the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it helps, I don't like sad endings either...
> 
> Up Next: Shepard and Garrus meet one last time at the end of the Reaper Wars in "You Have to Swear It - Part II".


	5. You Have to Swear It - Part II

Commander Jane Shepard is alive.

Somewhere out there, she is alive; Garrus Vakarian knows it. As he runs through unfamiliar corridors, past rubble and corpses, he imagines that he can track her scent - a sharp, clean tone, flickering through the dead Citadel air. It's purely sentimental bullshit that he would have never even considered a few short years ago, but he keeps running. She is alive. He can feel it.

Still, Garrus fears he has failed her. In their most crucial mission, he had one job - one damn responsibility: get Jane to the Beam. But for all he knows, she may not have made it. There may be nothing left of Commander Shepard but a pile of dust on the broken streets of London.

The mission had started well enough. For Garrus it was nothing but the usual routine _. Deep breath.  Shoot a husk.  Deep breath.  Shoot a marauder.  Deep breath.  Shoot another husk._   

Time had slowed as he cleared a path for Jane. She dashed only a few seconds behind his line of fire, a cold wind flicking ash through her hair. Despite her fatigue, she stayed at the head of her command. A full platoon of Alliance soldiers struggled to keep pace behind her. Vega stomped along behind her right shoulder; Alenko stumbled at her left. Somewhere far behind, the spirits of Williams, Mordin, Thane and a dozen other fallen comrades cheered her onwards.

For all their desperate plans and sad goodbyes, Garrus suspected that she reveled in the moment - the thrill of the fight, the chase, the adrenaline pounding in her veins. If he could spare the look, he knew she would be biting at her lower lip as a red flush worked its way across her cheeks. She was half crazy, and wholly beautiful.

For half a breath, it almost seemed like they would make it. Jane bounded easily over another concrete barrier, only to stumble at that deafening sound. _That_ _sound_. That cold thunder that clenched at the spine and stole away the air: Harbinger.  

Too late Garrus shouted for retreat. Powerless, he watched as the soldiers scattered for cover - all except Jane, who only charged faster towards the Beam. He screamed to her to stop, but his voice was lost in the racket. The Reaper sounded once more.

His world went red and then black.

He awoke later to a frenzy of Com chatter. Reports of explosions on the Citadel, husks keeling over on mass, and the Reapers suddenly going inactive, all flooded into the airwaves. He stumbled through the rubble searching for any sign of Jane, but both she and the Beam had vanished. Most of the Alliance forces had already retreated; those that remained wandered blindly about like ghosts. Through the ringing in his ears, Garrus could hear their laughter and their tears. His vision cleared just in time to see Harbinger simply fly away.  

And then, just like that, the Beam was back. With nothing but his Phaeston and a half-empty clip, Garrus leapt blindly into the blue light.

So now he runs. Past Keepers and the fallen, he runs and scans and hopes. He runs because he loves her more than he ever thought possible. He runs because somehow life without Shepard has become unimaginable.

Garrus is uncertain how long he's traced through the hidden underbelly of the Citadel, but suddenly Fate has mercy upon him. He spots a lone console among the debris. The screen flickers on and off, spewing mostly nonsense when active.

With a cry Garrus pounds his fist against the control panel - and is shocked when it actually knocks some sense into the machine. He shouts again in triumph as the system displays its default diagnostics. Citadel Operations seem to have switched back online. The arms have opened. The fires in the Wards are being vented.   There is full power to 60% of the station and -

Another light flashes green: tracking has been enabled. His fingers fly along his OmniTool, importing this new Citadel map and selecting a target ID. Maybe Jane would be furious if she knew that he had installed a tracking beacon in her armor last night - he only hopes they can fight about it later.

Garrus chokes a sigh of relief as his tool confirms the target location. "I'm coming, Jane," he vows to the empty corridor.

Through another miracle, on a Citadel nearly 50 kilometres long, he has ended up only a few hundred meters away from her. Garrus musters the strength sprint to the tracker coordinates. Spinning in circles, he scans the area for vital signs. The tracker puts Jane right at his feet, but all Garrus can see is a mountain of debris.

And then he spots it: an arm, striped red and white, reaching out from beneath the rubble. The hand is burned black, and Garrus cannot tell where the armor ends and the flesh begins, but there is no doubt: it's Jane.

He stands frozen. Her entire body save that one arm is covered by the broken bones of the Citadel. It will take an army to get her out.  That is, if she's still...

The hand twitches and grasps blindly at the air, shocking Garrus back.

"I've found her," he shouts into his Comm, euphoric and terrified. "I've found Shepard. She's alive." With a tap, he loops his message and their coordinates across all Alliance channels before diving at the rubble.  

Madly, he pulls whatever he can away and tosses it far behind him. He works in a frenzy until at last Jane's torso is exposed - one arm pressed against her side, the other still thrown out as if reaching for him. Her armor is half missing and what's left is charred beyond recognition. What skin he can see is covered in dark layer of blood and ash.  He thanks the Spirits as his head-up display confirms a pulse. She's unconscious and maybe that just as well; her legs remain crushed beneath a fallen column.

The column is easily ten times his own size, but Garrus throws himself at it. He heaves with all his might. He fights and curses and fights on, but it's no use. An old saying staggers into his mind. _You can't save a Hero._ No. Screw that. He'll save her. He'll be _her_ damn hero for once in his useless life. He heaves again at the mass, boots scratching long trails on the battered floor. He struggles until his breath falls short and he's left panting and defeated.

".... _Garrus_..." a small voice drifts up to him.

He falls to her side in an instant. "Jane," he breaths as presses his forehead against hers.

"Hey big guy," she whispers, eyes flickering open.

And her smile breaks his heart.

Somewhere along the way, Garrus has learned a few human facial expressions. She's smiling, it's forced. Scanning her up and down, he notices the shake in her hand against her side. He gently pulls it back. The charred black of her armor has given way to a projectile of some sort - possibly a large calibre bullet or maybe just flying debris. The armor has curled and cut into her abdomen.   It looks bad, but the entry wound is much worse. A ... _chunk_ of Jane is missing. Dark blood pools where flesh once lay.

His knowledge of human physiology is still fairly lacking, but by Garrus' best guess there is more blood on the floor beneath Jane than there is left in her. It's too much for even her cybernetics to take.

Garrus reaches for his OmniTool to apply some MediGel and staunch the flow for now, but it only beeps inanely back at him; he's out. He tries again with a curse. How the hell is he out? Her own dispenser is missing - torn off with the other shards of her armor. He panics. After all this - Geth and Reapers and a war that had them cross the galaxy a dozen times - Jane could simply bleed-out in a matter of minutes.

He tries to take hold of the fear. He's been a soldier for half of his life - he's seen gore and death a thousand times. How can one little human tear him apart so easily? Where is that famous Turian discipline now?  

No. He'll save her. He'll find a way.

Garrus swallows again and forces his voice to be calm for his lover. "Jane," he tries hard not to falter. "I'm going to double back and find some supplies," he says. With shaking knees, he stands. "You'll be fine," he lies. "I'll be right back."

For a moment he thinks she doesn't hear him, and turns to set off. A tug at his arm stops him.

"No." She pulls at his hand. "Stay with me," she begs.   "Please."

He tries to pull away, to run off and find some damn MediGel, but somehow she holds fast with those broken, blackened hands.

"Please," she asks again.   "I don't want to die alone," she says. "Not this time."

It staggers him -wrenches out his heart and leaves it aching on the floor.

"Please. Stay with me. Until the end." Fear shadows her words.

As he looks down, there is no disguising the panic in her eyes. Until, finally, he understands that there is more than one way to save someone.  He has no way off the Citadel. No real hope of rescue. No guarantee of finding medical supplies. But this, _this moment_ , is certain. He can her give this. He can hold her and love her and save her from a second lonesome death in the cold silence of space.

With a nod, Garrus settles back upon the cold floor. Gentle hands lift Jane's back to rest against his chest. His fingers lace over hers. His forehead nudges her temple. He hums softly until she, in turn, sighs her relief.

"It's over," she whispers. "It's really over."

"Shh," he murmurs. "Help will be here soon." He's not certain who that's meant to comfort.

For a while, he simply holds her. They breathe together, hope and dread at the end. Too soon, Jane begins to fade away once more. Her head leans back against his shoulder, spilling her hair down his arm. Her breath catches here and there.

"... that little fucker lied to me..." she grumbles to herself.

What it means, Garrus has no idea.

Together, they watch the battered navies of a half-dozen species float silently, aimlessly, around them.   A steady shower of debris drifts slowly towards Earth. It alights in the atmosphere, glowing red against the blue horizon and forming a broken halo around Jane's home. A beautiful and horrible finale, reserved just for them.

"But it's over," Jane says again in disbelief. "It's over."

Garrus nods. She's right. He's not certain he can call it a victory, but the Reapers have vanished. As best as he can guess, it is, indeed, over.

Yes, it's over. And there is only one thing left to do. With a deep breath, Garrus reaches into his belt pouch and retrieves that little jar of paint for the second time today.

Eyes half-closed and breath shallow, Jane does not catch on until his bare talon smears a line of blue along one cheek, over her nose and down the other.

She starts from her haze. "Garrus, don't do this," she whispers, trying to turn away.

He looks down at her, unwavering. He knows what this will mean - the silent station, the paint, and the dark blood that still drips onto the floor below her. And he doesn't care. "You promised," he reminds her. "You said when this was all over, you'd say 'yes'." He makes a show of looking around the broken chamber. "And it's all over, Jane."

He feels her fingers clench tighter at the wound on her side. Tears begin to gather at the corner of her eyes, but she blinks them back. When she tries to look away and hide them, he twines his hand back over her own; he will be her strength, even when she fights it.

"Say it, Jane."   He smiles at the bittersweetness of the moment. "You have to say it."

And she sobs. The great and powerful Commander Jane Shepard sobs in his arms. Tears stream freely now, leaving pale trails through the soot.

He whispers to her of hope - of rebirth and redemption.   He tries his damnest to remind her why they fought so hard in the first place. He swears that either way, he will be with her forever - he's holding her to that promised place at the bar.  

For the first time in her life, Shepard surrenders.   "Yes," she chokes.

It's hard to paint a human. Their angles are wrong and the primer refuses to stick to their rubbery skin. When at last he finishes, her face is a mess of bruises, paint, blood and tears.

Garrus admires his handiwork with a sad smile.

"How'd I look?" Jane slurs. "Blue my colour?"

"You're beautiful," he tells her, meaning every word of it. "Blue is ..." he trails off as the words begin to hurt. "Blue is definitely your colour."

She gives the slightest of nods.

There is a long moment where they speak no words, but say a thousand things.

Until, at last, Jane's weak grip upon his hand tightens for a moment. "I'll be here..." her voice trails off as her eyes close and she slips from consciousness.

Garrus shouts her name - shakes her, begs her - but she does not answer. Her breath is weak upon his cheek. Her heart shutters against his chest.

He pulls her closer. "We'll have a house on the beach," he whispers. "We'll commandeer the Normandy - bribe Joker or something. We'll do our own little Victory Tour: go to each homeworld, raise a few statues, kiss some babies, maybe kick some mercs along the way. You can personally punch each and every councillor.   Sparatus twice."

He swallows down his sorrow. "We'll go back to Rannoch and help Tali build her house -maybe we'll build our own place there...With too many rooms for just two." He stops to press a tender kiss against her forehead.      

"So we'll have a half dozen kids - beg, borrow or steal them - one of each Council race," Garrus continues.

He brushes a lock of hair back from her forehead. "And the Alliance will finally have to give you a damn promotion." He can almost see her smile at that.

He tells her of their life together. Even if she leaves him now, at least they will have these false memories to sustain them through whatever the future may hold. "We'll grow old and fat and boring together," he promises.

"Just don't leave me, Jane," he begs. "Don't leave me."

In the distance, he can hear shouts and the clatter of footsteps, fast approaching. But Garrus does not rise- does not run to meet them.

Instead he rocks his lover gently in his arms, keening softly against her temple.

Begging her to stay with him, until they find a sweeter end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: "You Have to Embrace It", coming soon!


	6. You Have to Embrace It

Garrus Vakarian stands alone.

With the bright glow of the sun above him, and the vibrant green of the park around him, it would be so easy to forget. He lets his eyes fall closed and his mind travel back to a time before the Reapers. He sees himself at his desk at C-Sec, drifting through a mountain of reports and daydreaming of a vacation on Palaven. He falls back further, to his first days at military academy. He sees himself as a cocky green cadet running laps around the training grounds. He wonders how much he would trade to be young and free and foolish once more.

With a shake, he draws himself back to the present. There is no point dwelling on those days long past, remembering the time before they were all tainted. The best they can do now is learn to live with the scars.

It has been a year - one Earth year - since the end of the Reaper Invasion. And, despite the machines' best efforts, life goes on - for some, at least. As the cities are cleared of rubble and the Relays slowly pieced back together, new life begins to emerge from the ashes. Homes and neighbourhoods are rebuilt. Gardens are planted. Children are born.

In slow, shaking steps, the galaxy is healing.

As a tribute to those lost in the war, the fallen's names are engraved in stone and concrete and steel. Not sorted by rank or race or faction or order, the names of the dead, military and civilian, are preserved across the galaxy upon a thousand new monuments. They are carved into the walls of the new Asari Legislature on Thessia, spiral up the pillars of the rebuilt Temple Palaven, and adorn the archways of the Sur'kesh Memorial University. They even bless the new maternity wards in Tuchanka. And yes, of course, they are here, along the walls, the paths, the benches and the monuments of this tranquil memorial park on Earth.

The park is deserted save Garrus and the lingering ghosts of the dead. Officially, it does not open until tomorrow; the public is held respectfully away by decorated guards. And yet, regrettably, being Garrus Vakarian does have its grim perks these days. Tomorrow, it will be flooded with mourners - survivors - searching for the names of the ones they've loved and lost. There will be officials and speeches and all the pageantry that the Alliance demands for the dead. And Garrus wants none of it. Not now.

Now, he just wants her back.

He's not sure if it's coincidence that her name is here on Earth, but he's damn certain it isn't by chance that it is in the middle of a quiet green park, the Normandy Monument only a few hundred yards away.

He runs his hand over the engraving. It isn't fair.  She was an amazing woman - a soldier, a hero even. And now, she is reduced to a name on a plaque, lost among a billion others.

She was the very Paragon of Patience.  Garrus can almost smile as he thinks back to all of his crap that she put up with.  His rashness and impatience should have earned him a swift kick in the ass too many times for him to count. Yet she had been kind and gentle when he needed it and fierce and protective when he could not. 

He loved her. And he hadn't been there for her. Not really. Not when it counted. Not when she _needed_ him. He'd left her to die alone in that damned station while he flew off in the Normandy, and ... No. He stops himself. This isn't doing anyone any good. She's gone and he needs to accept it.  

Garrus draws another deep breath in; holding it, he contemplates in the stillness of the moment. It's just a name. Not a body. Not a soul. But he hopes that she will find comfort here.

Like all wounds, this too shall someday heal. It may scar and leave a marred patch upon him, but it will heal. The hurt will lessen. Soon, there will be days that he does not think of her at all. Life will eventually move on. 

Yet, he cannot help but feel that some part of his soul will be forever missing.

"I love you," he whispers, running his fingers along her name one last time.  "Goodbye, mom."

And he lets go.

 "Hey, Big Guy," a soft voice calls to him.

Garrus forces a small smile as he turns to look back at his mate: the one, the only, Captain Jane Shepard.  

She smiles wide and cheerful as she takes a few shaking steps toward him, her cane offering little support in the soft soil.  In the year following the war, whole departments of Citadel Command have been created to estimate the cost of the Reaper Invasion. The physical cost to Shepard is obvious for all to see:  one arm, two legs, and two fingers.  

It could have been much worse. 

Within a few hours of the rescue crews returning a battered and bloodied Shepard to Earth, Miranda had waltzed effortlessly into the supposedly secure Alliance hospital. The doctors had balked at the ex-Cerberus officer as she began barking orders like she owned the whole damn hospital. But Miranda did not waiver. She had rebuilt Shepard once. She could do it again.

They had tried to keep it quiet. The last thing they needed was Diana Allers or Khalisah al-Jilani or some other cheap tabloider haunting the hospital wards, scrabbling to get a quick vid of a mangled Commander Shepard.

But, as always, Shepard was too big to contain. Word of Jane's survival had leached out of the hospital and onto the comms within the week. The media arrived first, followed shortly by the dignitaries.   And with the dignitaries, came resources.

They had been wrong. The galaxy didn't just want to see Commander Shepard. They wanted to see her _live._

Governments, military branches, private corporations and even common citizens offered up what they could spare. More and more resources piled in - geth nanites, Quarian enviro scrubbers, Asari neuroimplants - enough parts to rebuild her twice over.

Jane Shepard was a symbol, a beacon of hope for all sentient races. If they could not band together to save her, they had no chance of recovery - no chance at peace and unity.

Garrus had watched as his mate became lost within a growing array of tubes, wires and other medical equipment.  He had had no doubt that when she awoke she would be furious at the resources spent upon her recovery alone.   _Too damn bad_ , he had thought.  Jane was going to live, whether she damn well liked it or not.  

And then, one day, she awoke. Having performed a few too many miracles in her lifetime, Jane simply shrugged off her unlikely survival. And then, she cursed and complained, like it was any other day in the medbay.

She was battered but not broken. And each day, she grew stronger still.

Squinting in the high afternoon light, Garrus glances down to watch her feet as she tries a few more careful steps. She really shouldn't be taxing herself like this. Walking slow laps on the concrete floor of the compound was one thing, but trudging across soft, uneven ground was another. And yet, he knows there's no point arguing with her. The woman took down a Reaper on-foot; she isn't going to listen to his hen-pecking. Instead, he walks quickly over to meet her, takes her free arm and casually directs them back onto the paved walkway and on towards to the waiting skycar. He smirks as he pulls off the maneuver so smoothly she doesn't even notice. You can't always dam the river, but sometimes you can divert it.

The physical healing is slow but steady.  With demand high and resources scarce, replacement limbs are slow to acquire in the post-war days. Jane has low-grade mechanical prosthetics for her arm and legs; they have no tactile response, but for now, they'll do. Her legs feel slow and clumsy to the ex-marine, but she can walk. Her prosthetic hand, can grasp and lift, but she won't be winning any penmanship contests any time soon.

She'd taken the loss of her limbs in stride, claiming she still has the three fingers she needed most: two for signals, one for triggers.

But, it's all temporary. Somewhere in the forgotten corners of the galaxy, an Alliance-commandeered Cerberus base is growing Jane an arm and a couple of replacement fingers. With Miranda's original specs, the parts should be ready for implantation within the next few months. For her legs, she's opted to go full cybernetic. They too are being built in some distant factory, and await installation in the new year.

When he jokes that for once he leads her in fingers, she manages to smile.   Secretly, he sort of likes that they can lace their fingers together without feeling a few short.

 "She was a hell of lady," says Shepard, knocking Garrus firmly back to the present.  The warm summer air ripples through the short strands of her hair as she smiles sadly at him. The bright blue of her dress uniform against the verdant parklands seems suddenly overwhelming in its intensity. For so long, their days had been mired in dust and ash. Garrus wonders at the vibrancy they live in now.

He finds he can do nothing but nod. "That she was," he sighs. "That she was."

But his mother is gone now. They have no choice but to move on.

Together they pause as they pass through the shadow of the Normandy Monument. A great stone replica of the SR-2 points towards the stars, a tribute of victory and loss. At its base, the names of her fallen crew members gleam proudly in the afternoon sun. Ashley. Thane. Mordin. A dozen more. Garrus feels Shepard's breath quicken. There are memories here, both good and bad.

Shepard claims that she remembers nothing after entering the beam.  Indeed, she has sworn it several hundred times to both the Council and the shambled remains of Alliance Command. Perhaps it's just as well.  Garrus shudders as he remembers the warm drip of her blood onto his hands.  For a moment, he smells the acrid sting of her burnt flesh.  He shakes them away.  He doesn't want those memories himself; there is no way he would wish that pain upon her.  

There is no small number of questions to be answered about Jane.  Her missing hours may be a mere curiosity at this point, but there are some matters that demand explanations much louder than others.  Sometimes, Jane knows things she should not: the location of all the release ports in the Presidium, the flux-field output of the Artemis Tau mass relay, the number of cross-point couplings in Sovereign's central reactor ... A seemingly random collection of facts and figures now tumble from Jane's lips. They leak what might be useful through the Shadow Broker's network. The rest remains Jane's secret.

 It is ... _troubling_ to Garrus.  Does he think her indoctrinated?   _No_.  Absolutely not.  The honesty and clarity in her eyes give him no reason to doubt.  But it just creates more and more questions to linger unanswered.    

 And, well, parts of Jane are different now.   Sure, 99% of the time, she's the same old Jane - maybe with a few more scars, but the same at the core. But once in a while, in the quiet, darker hours, Garrus can see the changes.  There are nights he finds her staring hard into her tiny bathroom mirror.  He knows what she is thinking.  He knows that she too has questions. 

"You're you," he whispers each time he draws her back to bed.  "You'll always be you." 

Her changes are just something that they will both have to embrace.

And they will. Together.

As they reach the open iron gates at the park's entrance, Jane pauses for a moment. Some might think it from fatigue; it's a long walk for one so injured. Yet Garrus knows it's something more - that even if it was, Shepard would never admit to the physical strain. No. It's the _pull_ of it all - they glance over their shoulders at the Normandy Monument one last time and then back out through the open gates - from this life into the next. Garrus grips tighter at her hand and together they walk on.

Before the Charge of London, he had idly wondered if they might become irrelevant in a post-war galaxy. If, by some miracle, they survived, would there be no place for the great Commander Shepard and her loyal crew? It seems like a ridiculous thought now. Even as they brush the dust off from themselve, dozens of governments, agencies, and corporations scramble to entice Shepard into their fold. She is more in-demand than ever.

Jane has been promised an Admirality will follow shortly after her return to active duty with the Alliance.  Or, she could remain in the Spectres. Or both.  There is also talk of Ambassadorships or even a whisper or two of Council. 

Garrus has been offered similar positions in the Spectres, C-Sec, and the Turian Military.  He grimaces for a moment as he recalls just how high up the Hierarchy he is these days. 

 Yes, their future is bright, albeit uncertain. The galaxy has not forgotten them.

They continue on their journey to the awaiting skycar, walking side-by-side in contented, comfortable, silence. When they reach it, Garrus opens the side door for Jane and then offers her his hand as she slides into the waiting seat.

She laughs, making a half-joke about him being a `gentleman vigilante'. The clear ring of her laughter makes Garrus' chest go tight for a moment. He can't help but wonder if Shepard has infected him with some of those human heartstrings.

As Garrus settles into the car next to Jane, he smiles when he feels her hand grasp at this own. He has plans for tonight - _big_ plans.  In his pocket, an old bent washer and a dried-up jar of blue paint seem to jingle impatiently at him.  He knows he promised her fancier replacements, but he's failed to find a pair of tokens more fitting than the battered pair he first offered.  To be honest, he's a bit embarrassed by the sentimentality of it all.     

Sure, Turians may only give paint once, but Garrus can't help but feel that this is worthy of an exception.  He gives a little smirk as he imagines that they jingle again.  After all, Garrus never was a very good Turian.  

The roof of the skycar closes securely around them, and the engines hum low as they spring to life.

He squeezes her hand tighter in his own. "So Captain," he drawls. "Where do we go from here?"

She smiles back at him, now and forever the Spirit of Hope.

"Wherever the hell we want."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I think we'll call that an ending, at least for now. I had originally planned at least two more chapters in the post war era, but I can't help but feel that simple domestic conflicts would seem trivial after surviving a war. 
> 
> As I said, I don't like sad endings, so you will all just have to suffer through Shepard's highly improbable survival. Think of it as the Control Ending, where she let go before it consumed her. At this point I just wanted some closure. It's a cheap cop out, I know; if you prefer to wallow in sadness, just pretend it ended a chapter earlier.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
